Winter Melts
by LuvEwan
Summary: A vignette on a season of cold, a time of fear. (Obi/Qui)


Winter Melts  
  
A Vignette by LuvEwan  
  
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I touch the fire and it freezes me I look into it and its black Why can't I feel My skin should crack and peel I want the fire back  
  
Now through the smoke he calls to me To make my way across the flame  
  
To save the day Or maybe melt away I guess its all the same  
  
So I will walk through the fire 'Cause where else can I turn I will walk through the fire And let it---  
  
Burn. -Joss Whedon,  
  
///////\\\\\\\  
  
The lines of the window were severe, coming to sharp corners, framing the dismal horizon beyond.  
  
Trees were barren. Frost clung to the twisting branches, left the remnants of leaves icy and brittle. The ground was thickly concealed by layers of snow.  
  
The sky was painted in grays, and the grim palate streaked across the desolate, empty land.  
  
He turned away from the scene, sealing his eyes against the familiar backdrop, and returned to his seat.  
  
His hulking frame was squeezed into the hard-backed chair, but after days upon days, he didn't notice the cramped discomfort.  
  
The walls were white. He had expected nothing different, for that was the way of these sort of places. Unrelieved blandness stretching into every tiny room, spilling onto the thin blankets and pillows, bleeding into the motionless patient's pallor.  
  
His russet hair was wilted, damp strands falling onto his forehead, casting shadows on darkened eyelids. Sculpted, barely parted lips were faintly tinted blue. His abused chest heaved to deliver a breath.  
  
Qui-Gon could admit, in this deafening silence, that the light was draining from his apprentice's face. He had ignored the thought at first, fought against its meaning with every fiber of his increasingly weary being, but now his resolve was giving way.  
  
To a harsh, unbearable truth.  
  
There had always been a brilliance to Obi-Wan's smile. Anyone recognized it, whether they be a fellow Jedi, or a mere acquaintance, glancing at that charismatic face without care.  
  
It held the benevolent glitter of a thousand stars, the simply purity of a golden sunrise.  
  
And his eyes glowed with softness of a gentle moon.  
  
Or the tranquil waves of the ocean.  
  
It was the essence of Obi-Wan's soul, he could not hide his tremendous beauty, though he displayed not a shred of pride, carried himself without conceit.  
  
The rarest forms of grace were harbored in him. Qui-Gon had acknowledge that distantly, perhaps.  
  
Before.  
  
Now he was haunted by the full knowledge.  
  
Staring at the pasty visage, he recalled countless yesterdays, where cerulean eyes twinkled amid a pall, and a cultured voice spoke in harmonious verse.  
  
When the days were ripe with possibility.  
  
Before the strong and noble body was struck down.  
  
Qui-Gon witnessed the quick, abrupt decay:  
  
The sudden sheen of sweat that broke onto Obi-Wan's skin. The chills, the fiery fever and crippling weakness. Until the shaking Padawan collapsed in his Master's arms, limp.  
  
They were on a foreign world, Qui-Gon speaking a very broken version of native tongue. He managed to get the unresponsive youth to a hospital, where Obi-Wan was promptly whisked into the frightening, cold bowels of, while Qui-Gon paced the still halls.  
  
An exotic, thankfully incommunicable, disease, had claimed the student as its next victim. It wasn't an epidemic, but off-worlders were at high risk, without the antibodies built up to battle the fierce malady.  
  
Little could be done for Obi-Wan, they told him, with help of a translator who was fluent in Basic. Potent medicines were constantly streamed into Obi-Wan's blood. He was restrained to a specific diet, and remained in the stiff infirmary bed.  
  
He slept a majority of the time. Qui-Gon could sense the overwhelming exhaustion easily through their open bond.  
  
Often, the pain cruelly ripped him from the relieving slumber. Obi-Wan clamped down on his lip when it came---perspiration glistening on his ghostly face, and rattling shivers attacking him.  
  
Qui-Gon would soothe him as best he could, entwining their fingers, and pressing the warm tangle to his lips. He would talk of kinder times until his throat was dry and his eyes were wet.  
  
But none of his efforts were ever successful.  
  
Obi-Wan offered him a weak smile nonetheless, patting his hand, quelling his anguished wince.  
  
Over a month had passed. Slowly, the sickness was wearing the valiant spirit down. He spent entire days in deep rest, refusing food or support.  
  
Qui-Gon watched as winter reigned outside, robbing nature of its blooming glory.  
  
The freeze had spread throughout the planet. The frigidity was reaching for Qui-Gon.  
  
The hope of those early days was withering. Home was millions of miles away.and the residence of his heart was---dying---before him.  
  
He found he couldn't face that, and he wandered the large building sometimes for hours, trying to forget why he was marooned here.  
  
Why his beloved apprentice was reduced to nothing more than a prisoner, the bars of his cage clear tubes that trailed from his veins.  
  
The flush of life and youth was replaced by paleness. The heat of this passionate aura had cooled.  
  
The flames had been extinguished.  
  
Around him, Qui-Gon saw the ashes.  
  
He didn't want to separate himself from Obi-Wan. In fact, he would sacrifice his soul to restore his dearest friend's health.  
  
But such trades were nonexistent; he bitterly knew, nothing would buy Obi- Wan's recovery.  
  
Winter was everywhere.clutching lingering traces of aged warmth, smothering the sun.  
  
Maybe they would both die here.  
  
If Obi-Wan was destined to this fate, it would be better that he did not go alone.  
  
Qui-Gon was his Master. If there was a demon to face, he would ensure his apprentice would not face it without him.  
  
The ice was creeping around his heart.  
  
And the thaw could come only from Obi-Wan, who gradually opened red- threaded eyes, loosely adhered to the rigid man beside him.  
  
"Master." He rasped.  
  
Qui-Gon leaned forward, capturing quaking hands in his, stroking him absently, in automatic soothing. "Padawan?"  
  
Obi-Wan smiled with a tired sigh, licking his lips. "You---can't."  
  
Qui-Gon smoothed the ginger locks, growing out of their short spikes. "I can't what?"  
  
Breathtaking eyes opened wider, and they were surprisingly steady. "You can't stay this way." He shook his head carefully. "No."  
  
The older Jedi's graying brow furrowed. "Obi-Wan?"  
  
Obi-Wan's grip tightened. There was power in him, beating in his clammy palms, flowing throughout his ill body. "I---need you, Master."  
  
Qui-Gon's expression eased. He touched a pallid cheek. "And I need you too."  
  
Obi-Wan gathered a breath. "Yes. We need---each other. But you are too far.too far from me. I can't go.where you are."  
  
Qui-Gon pulled back. He knew what his apprentice spoke of. The barren world he had retreated to, where all was icy, and the warmth of Obi-Wan was a painful memory. Surely that heat had not been kindled after the ravaging disease had taken hold?  
  
Of course Obi-Wan could not trek there. He didn't belong in such a raw, awful place. "I know." Qui-Gon whispered.  
  
Obi-Wan's countenance looked as though it was aching from poignant beauty, and the Master turned from it, not wanting to be reminded of what was gone.  
  
"I'm not going to die."  
  
Qui-Gon swallowed hard, face falling into his callused hands. The declaration had been uttered with clear conviction. "You---cannot know that, Obi-Wan. Please.don't say anything."  
  
Tears filmed his eyes, but Obi-Wan didn't obey. "I feel it, Qui-Gon. To my core.I will live."  
  
A single finger was pressed to the mouth. Obi-Wan blinked, moisture snaking toward his neck. He was quiet and placid, waiting until Qui-Gon withdrew. "But I-I'm scared."  
  
Qui-Gon bordered the round cheeks with his hands tenderly, but didn't speak.  
  
"I-I'm afraid you're leaving me."  
  
Tears started in Qui-Gon's eyes. "Oh." He gasped huskily. "I would never leave you."  
  
Obi-Wan blinked, a slow smile donning on his face. "You want to. You.are going farther, because you think I will die."  
  
"No!"  
  
"Yes." The youth croaked. "You want to distance yourself.so that when I died.you wouldn't feel it as much."  
  
That was enough. Qui-Gon grabbed Obi-Wan, tightening him in a smug embrace, supporting the frail body. "Be quiet." He whispered.  
  
Obi-Wan settled against his chest, perfectly content, though his Master was on the verge of explosion. "I'm still here, Master. Every bit of me. I haven't left." His voice lowered, but maintained its steadiness. "And I'm not going to."  
  
Qui-Gon squeezed him. "I---can't lose you." He admitted into the silky ginger mane. "There isn't anything in this Universe worth living for. Nothing, but you." It was difficult to force the words out, his throat was choked with rising sobs. "You're all that keeps me here. Without you.I am cold, Obi-Wan."  
  
Obi-Wan wrapped his fingers around Qui-Gon's, and the warmth was unmistakable. Obi-Wan craned his neck, looking up at the crying man, fever- bright eyes understanding.  
  
Qui-Gon placed a trembling kiss on his sweaty forehead, closing his eyes, as the heat of his apprentice sought to melt what had been dangerously close to frozen.  
  
Outside, the snow, dissolved to water, dripped from a branch, beginning to nourish the budding life of a coming spring. 


End file.
